Chapter Twenty-Six
Linc
When the panel finishes, I make my way over to Elora, who’s sitting on the end of one of the rows. I felt her eyes on me through the whole of the last hour. It made it hard to concentrate at times. Her eyes, while being baby-blue, are far from innocent. Her eyelids slide to half mast, and although I don’t think she’s aware of it, her expression turns sultry, so I know she’s thinking about what’s going to happen when we get back to our room.
We have a few hours yet though, as I want her to think about it for a while so that by the time we return to our suite, she’s flustered and aching for me. It amuses me just to think about it.
“Well done,” she says, standing as I approach. “You were amazing.”
I give a mock-nonchalant shrug, then smile. “I perform well in the spotlight.”
She chuckles and holds out her hand, and I take it in mine, leading her down the stairs toward the Cabaret Lounge. Tonight there’s no show as such. The room is filled with round tables, and a karaoke competition is about to start on the stage. It’s not normally my kind of thing, and I’m sure it’s not Elora’s, but although she stays shyly by my side, she seems happy enough as we wander through the room until we’re stopped by Alethea and invited to sit at her table. A couple of the other panelists are there, both with their partners, as well as one of the conference organizers and his wife, so Elora and I slide into two chairs.
Elora perches on the edge of hers, her spine a little stiff, and I see her glance dart off, checking out the exits and the number of people filing in. Our table is almost in the center of the room, so I understand why she might feel closed in.
“All right, gorgeous?” I lift her fingers to mine and kiss them.
She brings her gaze to me and gives a short smile. “I’m fine.”
I lean forward so my lips are close to her ear. “All the time I was sitting at that table, I was thinking about going down on you later.” I press my lips to the sensitive spot behind her ear, then move back.
Her eyes have widened comically, and her face flushes red. “Linc!” she says, glancing around the table to see if anyone overheard.
“What?” I give my best innocent look.
She glares at me. “You’re trying to discombobulate me.”
That makes me laugh. “Where are you from, 1942?”
“Don’t mock me.”
“I’m absolutely going to mock you if you’re going to use words like discombobulate.” I grin at her as the waiter approaches and asks if we’d like a drink. “Do you want a coffee?”
“I’ll have a glass of Sauvignon please,” she says to the waiter.
My eyebrows rise, but I don’t comment, because it’s absolutely her choice, and I’m not her father. “What Irish whiskies have you got?” I ask when the waiter turns to me. He reels off half a dozen names, and I choose the twelve-year-old Tullamore Dew, on the rocks. He nods and continues around the table, taking orders.
The guy sitting next to me starts talking about an article he read on aerial photography, and that leads to a discussion on crop markings, which some of the others join in with. New Zealand is a heavily forested country, and that and the lack of pre-nineteenth century occupation has meant that the field isn’t a widely used one in this country. Elora accepts her wine when the waiter returns and sips it as she listens, then, to my surprise, interjects with a question about LiDAR—light detection and ranging—and how it’s able to pass through branches and leaves, and is therefore useful for mapping heavily overgrown landscapes.
Ethan, sitting next to me, looks surprised and says to her, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were an archaeologist.”
“I’m only recently qualified,” she says hastily as everyone looks at her. “I work in the National Museum in Wellington.”
“Don’t listen to her,” I tell the rest of the table, “she’s an absolute genius. She’s working on her thesis about identifying ancient bird species across the country. Not only is it going to change our view of the moa and other birds, but I believe it’ll be incredibly useful as a dating method for early settlements.”
She stares at me. “Who told you that?”
“Nobody. I’m an archaeologist, Lora. I understand the importance of stratigraphy and association.”
“That’s amazing,” Ethan says. “Bird bones are present at nearly all early sites.”
“Yes,” she says, tearing her gaze from me to look at Ethan, “and I thought that if I could provide a chronology for the various species of flightless birds, it might help as a method for dating our early sites, which is so tough because of the lack of building materials.”
Ethan goes on to question her about her work so far, and some of the others join in. I sit back and sip my whiskey, amused to watch her light up as she talks about her work.
After a while, she asks one of the others a question, and the conversation moves on to other topics.
She leans back in her chair and sips her wine again, then finally looks at me. “I’m impressed,” she says. “Nobody else guessed why I was studying bird bones.”
“Your brain works on a different level from everyone else’s,” I reply. “No way were you only interested in tracheal rings. You were always going to do something amazing, Lora. You know this could revolutionize the archaeology of early sites in this country? The date of the arrival of humans here is being pushed back all the time, and it will really help to pinpoint when the first settlers actually landed.”
Color creeps into her cheeks. “Thank you,” she says. “I know you’re going to laugh, but it means a lot, coming from you. Not just as my friend, but as an archaeologist.”
We study each other, adjusting to the fact that we both respect what the other has achieved. We both love the subject, and it means more to see how far we’ve risen, when we started together all those years ago, lying in the makeshift tent, reading that atlas.
“I miss those days,” she says, obviously following the same train of thought as me.
“Me too.” I think about how different my life might have been if Atticus hadn’t freaked out at our kiss. We would have dated for a few years, gone to the cinema or skating, taken long walks in the evenings, just the two of us, and talked and kissed, although I’d never have let it go further than that, no matter what her father thought. And then once she turned sixteen, I’d have asked his permission to marry her, and then we’d have grown up together, maybe even gone to university together, and flourished with the safe security of our friends and family around us.
Instead, we were torn apart, and although we’ve both clawed our way back to relative success, it’s been so much harder than I’m sure it would have been if we’d had each other for support.
All those wasted years. My heart aches to think about it.
On the stage, someone is currently belting out a terrible version of Bon Jovi’s Living on a Prayer and having a great time. Elora gives a short laugh and looks across at the singer. “Talk about ruin the mood.”
I smile, but my gaze lingers on her. She looks young, and healthy, and so incredibly full of life.
“Sing a song with me,” I say.
Her head snaps back, her eyes startled. “What! No! Absolutely not.”
“I know you can sing, Elora-Rose.”
“That’s not the point.”
“You have a lovely voice. So come on, let’s sing a duet.”
“Oh my God, Linc, stop it. Why do you have to keep pushing me?”
“Because it’s fun.”
We continue to bicker while the next few people take the stage and sing equally badly, and eventually she winces and says, “Jesus, you know I’m actually tempted.”
“Excellent,” I say. “What shall we sing?”
“I didn’t… oh what the hell.” She blows out a breath. “What do you suggest?”
“Something cheesy. What duets do you know?”
We settle on Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers’ Islands in the Stream , with Elora insisting she can do Dolly’s harmonies, and I go up to the organizer and put our names forward for the next space.
We’ve just managed to finish our drinks when our names are called, and an enthusiastic round of applause meets our arrival on the stage.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she mutters as we collect our microphones and move to the center of the stage. “There are so many people here!”
“Look at me,” I tell her, turning her so she’s facing me. “We’re singing to each other, okay?”
She nods. “Okay.” She glances down at herself. “I don’t really have the required figure for this.”
I chuckle. “Get ready.”
The music starts, and I dance a little to it, making her laugh, then begin singing Kenny’s words.
When it’s her turn to come in with Dolly’s part, she joins in, dancing a little as she sings the harmony, hitting the high notes perfectly.
I meant this as a joke, and because I meant it when I said it was fun to push her out of her comfort zone, but as we sing the chorus, I’m surprised that actually we sound really good together. And when we sing that this could be the year for the real thing, goosebumps spring up all over my skin.
We make it to the end without a single mistake, and everyone cheers as we take a bow and descend the steps. I grin as I lead her back to our table and hold up a hand as everyone sitting around it whoops and claps.
“Autographs available for a fee,” I tell them, making them laugh.
Elora is flushed and her eyes are sparkling. “Cold drink this time?” I ask, and she nods, so I get up and order us both a Sprite Zero over ice from the bar and bring the two glasses back.
The competition continues, with some of the competitors giving us a good run for our money, but when it comes to the results and prizes, we discover we’ve come second, and go up to collect a small trophy and our prize—a box of chocolates.
“Woo!” Elora waves the trophy as we return to our seats. “I think that’s the first trophy I’ve ever won, apart from a spelling bee when I was twelve.”
“This was much more fun.”
“I have to agree with you.” We sit back at the table and sip our drinks, then look up as the lights are lowered and the organizers declare it’s time for some dancing. There’s a small dance floor in front of the stage and a DJ stands off to the side, opening the music with the Bee Gees’ Staying Alive . Disco lights start flashing, and the music, while not loud enough to drown out conversation, vibrates through the floor, all the way up through me.
“I love disco,” I tell her. Feeling adventurous, I put down my drink, get to my feet, and hold out my hand. “Come on, Cinderella.”
She stares at me in shock for, like, the fifteenth time that evening. “You’re kidding me.”
“Look at my face. Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“The music has just started, Linc.”
“I know. It’s a brilliant song.”
“Nobody’s dancing yet.”
“Someone has to be first.”
“But it doesn’t have to be us.”
It’s impossible to stay still with the beat in my veins, and I start dancing in front of her. “Come on. Make my day.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m not stopping,” I tell her. “I’m going to stand in front of you for the whole song if I have to.”
“Have at it,” she says. “I’m not getting up.”
I purse my lips. It’s going to be kinda embarrassing if she doesn’t join me. People are already starting to look.
But I was never one to flinch first when playing chicken. I want to dance with Elora, and I’m going to stand here until she’s so embarrassed at how I’m making a fool of myself that she’ll have to get up.
*
Elora
Ho-lee shit… Linc is standing in front of me, dancing, and it doesn’t look as if he’s going to stop anytime soon.
Most men I know, including my father, Fraser, and Joel, can just about manage a shuffle around the dance floor with a partner, but they draw the line at disco dancing, too self-conscious to get up there and boogie.
Linc, unsurprisingly, has no such worry. Wow, the dude can move. He moves perfectly to the music, clapping his hands occasionally, and at one point does a spin on the spot that makes those around him cheer.
He’s hoping to embarrass me into getting up, but there’s no way I’m being the first on the dance floor. So I sit back, fold my arms, and glower at him a little.
Unperturbed, he gives a short laugh and continues, throwing himself into his little routine. Oh man, he’s really going for it. People are starting to clap along with the music, enjoying his performance, and as he moves closer to me, the whistles start.
He’s now standing just a foot away, and he slows down his movements and starts dancing more sensually, winding his hips, fixing his gaze on mine. Oh shit, he’s giving me a fucking lap dance in front of everyone. My face heats until it burns, and he notices, but he just grins and carries on. He’s really not going to stop. Well, it’s his own fault if he makes a fool of himself.
I think he’s starting to realize that I’m not giving in. He’s still dancing, but his brows draw together, and he says, “Aw, Lora, come on…”
I’m about to shake my head when I glance around and realize that everyone’s watching us. They’re all cheering, and several of the women gesture at me as I catch their eye and mouth, “Go on!” I look at Alethea, and I can see the pity on her face, not for me but for Linc, who’s standing there in front of everyone, dancing just for me, and now on the verge of embarrassing himself if I don’t get up.
I blow out a breath, cursing him silently, then extend a hand, and he whoops and takes it, pulling me to my feet. The crowd cheers as he leads me to the dance floor, and I thank the gods that I’ve had two glasses of wine tonight, because as he spins me into his arms, I put aside my insecurities and shyness and start dancing. I know that half—if not all—the women in the room would give everything they own to be in my shoes. So screw it—what’s the worst that can happen?
I try not to think about falling over in my high heels and making a complete fool of myself, and instead dance with the gorgeous man in front of me. I don’t remember him dancing much as a kid—it must have been something he got into as an adult—but he’s super good at it, and he moves so well. He slides an arm around my waist, and we move together for a while, and then we move apart and dance separately. I’ll never be as abandoned as he is, but I throw myself into it, and when the song comes to an end, the whole room cheers and claps, while Linc spins me into his arms, and we both laugh.
September by Earth, Wind, and Fire comes on, and Linc raises an eyebrow. I roll my eyes and nod, and so we begin dancing to that, too.
In the end, we don’t stop for over an hour. We dance to Boogie Nights, Off the Wall, Disco Inferno , and several others I haven’t heard of. And then the DJ moves on to slow songs, starting with one of my favorites, Billy Paul’s Me and Mrs Jones .
Linc pulls me into his arms and takes my hand in his, and I sigh as I look up at him. There are quite a few more couples on the dance floor now, and more join us for this slow song, but for once, even though we’re surrounded, I don’t feel nervous. Maybe it’s the wine, or perhaps the fact that I feel comfortable with these people who understand my passion, but I think mainly it’s being so close to this guy and having the feeling that he’d lay his life on the line for me, if he had to.
We dance without speaking through the whole song, Linc singing softly, his deep voice reverberating through me. It’s getting late now, and they’ve lowered the lights, and there are more people on the dance floor. When the song changes to Barbra Streisand’s Woman in Love , I shiver, and I think he mistakes it for nerves because of all the couples crowding in on the tiny floor. He pulls me toward him a little more, his arms tightening protectively around me.
I tuck my head into his neck, the words making me flush a little. I am in love with him. Does he know that? Has he guessed? Oh God, of course he has, I’ve babbled about how I feel about him enough times. I haven’t said it in so many words, but he must realize that’s how I feel.
Does he feel the same way about me?
He said: We’re going to have to make a decision when the time comes… I stay. I leave. Or you come with me . He does have feelings for me. How can I doubt that? But he’s right; we’ve only been together for a few days. It’s like a holiday romance, with everything heightened because we know our time is limited. Holiday romances never work out. I can’t start thinking about making big changes in my life, or forcing him to make big changes, just because we’ve had a hot fling.
I’m overthinking again, and it’s wearing me out. I don’t want to keep angsting about the future. It’s going to spoil the present, and I’ll ruin everything, and I don’t want that.
So I push the thought out of my mind and do my best to just be in the moment. I concentrate on the feel of his arms around me, so tight, as if he wants us to become one. Which I know he does, very soon, our bodies cleaving together in the darkness as the ship rolls beneath us. I shiver, and he kisses my temple, the touch of his lips sending tingles all through me. I can smell his pirate cologne, the sweet notes of rum and coffee somehow exciting, making my pulse race. He hums along with the song, and all I can think about is him whispering in my ear, telling me all the things he wants to do to me.
I shiver again, and he moves back so he can look at me. “You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod, looking up into his eyes. They look much darker in this light, the green irises flashing multi-colored from the lasers flickering around the room.
He dips his head and touches his lips to mine. It’s hardly a passionate kiss; it takes less than a second, his mouth barely touching mine. But something shoots through me like a firework, igniting every nerve ending, sending my heart racing.
He lifts his head and looks at me. Then, without saying a word, he takes my hand and leads me off the dance floor.
The room is busy with people moving about, collecting drinks, changing seats, talking to friends, and nobody notices us wending our way through the tables, or at least if they do, no one comments on it.
When we reach the exit, he leads me wordlessly across to the elevators and presses the button to call the carriage. We wait, still not talking, our gazes locked. My heart is hammering. I’m not quite sure what’s on his mind, but the look in his eyes suggests he’s not thinking about the weather.
The doors ping and open, we go inside, and he presses the button for our floor. The doors slowly close.
Immediately, he strides across the carriage, takes my face in his hands, and crushes his lips to mine.
I gasp, my mouth opening automatically, and he takes the opportunity to plunge his tongue inside. Oh my God, I can’t catch my breath. He presses me up against the carriage wall, his body hard against mine. He takes my wrists in his hands and pins them above my head, then rocks his hips against mine, pressing his erection into my soft flesh.
I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to. My head spins and my heart bangs against my ribs, so hard I feel a little faint. I should object, I should feel scared, but I don’t, because it’s Linc, and because I want him to want me like this. I want him to claim me, to desire me, to burn for me, the same way I’m burning for him. A soft moan escapes my mouth, causing an answering groan to rumble in his throat.
Oh God, I want him so badly. I’m turning to caramel, filled with longing, and yearning for him. What the hell is happening to me?